


Cenicienta Story

by MsSchneeheide



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: AU, Cenicienta, Cinderella - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSchneeheide/pseuds/MsSchneeheide
Summary: A Cinderella story, loosely inspired by the fairy tale, with Blanca and guess-who and much of our beloved Spanish Harlem.
Relationships: Blanca Flores & Dario "Diablo" Zuniga





	Cenicienta Story

‘Once upon a time there was a rich man whose wife got sick, and when she felt the end was getting nearer, she -’

_Sbam._

"Bianca!"

_Tump_ , oh shit!

"No, no no no no..." her arm stretched out to...

_Crash._

Coño. Too late, she thought, looking at the shattered mug on the floor, then picking up the book and trying to mop up the pages, now wet and brownish with tea. The first lines hadn't sounded that promising, but all the same...

"Biancaaa! Come here!"

Darn vieja. _She_ would give her a stroke one of these days.

*****

It had become like second nature at this point.

Blanca had been working there for seven years.

They had been seven long, hard years of early morning, late nights (not the good kind), Bianca!s, countless adult diapers, food manias, arguments and diplomacy with irritating daughters, no-microwave Bianca!, boredom, patience, come here Bianca!, I don't like pink, Bianca!, no Spanish here, Bianca!, Bianca, Bianca, Bianca...

Blanca was bored.

To think all her thrills and highs now came from an eighty-five-year-old, she who'd dreamt of living all the life, seeing all the places with her own eyes, meeting all the real people. And after a decade away from the Dominican Republic she'd not even managed to get to New York.

Her vieja was not that bad in the end, probably, and her daughter was not the worst she had seen, maybe; she'd also gotten worse pays and lousier benefits in those other households at first, plus, she’d not even been legal then. But it still didn't change the fact that at times when she started yawning out of nowhere or caught a glimpse of her own cardigan-wearing reflection in a mirror, Blanca felt like she belonged to an old people's home more than Millie.

The book had been ruined, the old lady had bugged her for an hour for the broken china and her eldest had hovered over dinner preparations like an annoying mosquito.

A glimpse to the alarm clock on her bedside table - it was already close to midnight.

A sigh, as she tucked herself in.

Yes. She was ready to forget about another entirely forgettable day.

*****

"What time?"

A stare. " _Otra_ _vez?_ ", and she put down the knife on the counter.

The younger woman looked up from her phone and frowned. "I was busy!"

"Yeah, texting with the other airhead."

"Hey!"

"I swear you got the attention span of a two-year-old," Gloria sighed. "Opening's at eight, you can get off at five."

"A'right," the tall girl resumed her writing.

"And you can tell your friend later! Get back out to work, I can hear Zirconia scaring clients from here."

"Yeah, I told you she ain't customer service friendly yet," Flaca pursed her lips.

" _You_ 're supposed to teach her. Get. OUT!" Gloria threw a wooden spoon her way.

"Ouch! I'm going, I'm going…" and she went back to the cafeteria.

*****

Thursday was a beautiful sunny spring day.

The sky was a deep light blue, the green of grass and bushes was greener, cherry trees were in full blossom and here and there they colored the streets of the residential suburb of their gorgeous pink and white, the air was warm with the gentlest breeze.

And she was stuck inside, tidying up after lunch and with a million already perfectly OK things to iron again afterwards, and a suitcase to check for the third time, and the fireplace to clean ("...but it's April! We won't use it until October" - "You never know! Climate change Bianca, the President said it might be real") and surely many more useless tasks that her vieja would come up with.

Her phone rang. She dried hands on her apron, and took it. What now?

"Hey," she grumbled.

" _Hey_ ," the voice on the other side repeated. "Havin' a good day mama?"

Blanca's eyes narrowed on the to-do list on the table. "Yeah, sure. Great."

"Mh - good. So listen! We got plans for Saturday."

" _We_?"

"Sí, we, as in me, you, all the gang." A pause, and a crashing sound. "Coño! Who left the handle over the fucking burner??"

…"You in the kitchen?"

"No, why, I'm here at the spa sipping on champagne with five dudes massaging me... it's two in the afternoon, whatcha think?" Gloria cursed some more.

"Okay, okay… anyway, I -"

"You, get outta my hair. Now!" Another voice saying undistinguishable words. "Not _you_ Blanca."

"I know. Say hi to Flaca. Don't kill her, it's still your rush hour."

"Mh," Gloria growled.

"Anyway, I can't. I got…"

"Wait, isn't the vieja away this weekend?"

“Yes,” it was that time in a blue moon when she spent a couple of days with her daughter, “but -”

“Good. Then you can come.”

“No, no no,” she lowered her voice. “They’re obsessed with burglars, I gotta stay home and…”

“Por favor, they got that fancy anti-theft alarm and the community policing and all. And your nosy neighbors! A cat can’t get near the house without everyone knowing.”

“ _I know_ ,” Blanca hissed, “but they still want me to stay here to be extra safe.”

“Pfft. And how’d they know if you not there, mh.”

“They gonna call me to check, seguro,” she checked the corridor. No one in sight still.

“Oh fu… and you lift the receiver and leave it like that and they can call your cell phone!” Loud chopping noise could be heard.

“The… receiver? What phone you got mami?”

“Fuck off Blanca,” Gloria replied curtly. “You are coming. It’s a new club opening, free drinks, music.”

“Gloria, really, I…”

“C’mon, it’s for your birthday! Do I gotta tell you everything?”

“My birthday’s in two weeks!”

“Well the opening’s this weekend.”

“Mh,” Blanca chewed on her nail, looking up at the stairs. Steps were coming near.

“Gotta go, tell you later about the time,” Gloria slammed the oven close again.

“Wait Gloria, I didn’t say…”

_Click._

Darn.

She had hung up.

* * *

At a quarter past six on that Saturday the doorbell had rung like crazy, and in they had marched as a firing squad.

She’d just got a message from Maritza telling her to take a shower and wait for them after six, no explanations, no nothing.

"You look like shit," Aleida kindly observed as a greeting, while Flaca and Maritza exchanged a quick concerned glance at each other and the huge bags they'd brought with them and she heard a whispered "Do we have enough stuff?", saw the shoulder shrug before they jumped in to do some damage control.

"It's not that bad!"

"Yeah, totally! It's just a bit, like… a black canvas."

“It’s a _blank_ canvas, you dumbass!”

“You seen her brows? There’s more black than blank here.”

The three rushed Blanca to her room, 'cause they'd need "every single minute", not sparing comments on all they saw in the house.

"Hey!" Maritza suddenly gripped Flaca's arm. "This is _so_ gonna be like an episode of _Extreme Makeover_!"

"Uooh chica you're _so_ right!"

…"Wait… we should film it all and send it to someone! They _have_ to get the show back."

Flaca gaped. "OMG yes."

Blanca stared at them fixedly.

"...OK, maybe not," Maritza murmured.

The older woman then proceeded to boss Blanca inside the bathroom to get a start on things, while Flaritza began opening drawers and wardrobe and pulling out all they found, from underwear to T-shirts, socks to pajamas to jackets.

“So what do you say?” Aleida asked after putting the final touches on her manicure.

Blanca studied them. Her calluses had almost disappeared, skin was softer, and the previously irregular nails were now perfectly shaped, cuticle-free and sporting jet-black polish with dark grey designs of cobwebs, full moons and deadwood trees.

Her jaw slackened. “What’s this?”

“Hey! You said punk, no leopard. That’s punk,” Aleida pointed, offended.

“No, I mean, I love it!” Blanca looked up again. “Don’t seem like my hands anymore,” she looked back down in wonderment.

The other woman smirked and flipped her hair. “Well, ya know. You got the best motherfucking manicurist in town.”

Her friend smiled back.

“Hey, can we see?” Flaritza’ heads appeared by the door. “Wow!”

“Great job Aleida,” Flaca approved.

“And it wasn’t easy,” Maritza added.

Blanca shook her head.

“Well, it’s our turn now!”

“What?” the Dominican asked, puzzled.

“You didn’t think we’d let you go out with us like… this,” Maritza gestured at her face.

“Like what?” she frowned.

“Nothing,” Flaca said, as they started to take out their equipment. Blanca followed their movements with worry.

“We are here to bring out your full potential. You’ll see when we are done.”

“Imma check out the outfits and do my make-up,” Aleida announced. “You got an hour!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the two girls assented distractedly, already focused on their project. “We got this.”

Fifty minutes later, the job was done.

"I like the vibe," Flaca appraised critically, with a proud nod at the now stylishly unkempt hair, bold eyeliner, and blood red lipstick. "It's so, don't fuck with me, right?'

Maritza smirked at that. "Or, fuck with me! Now! Hard!"

They chuckled.

"Yeah, lemme feel that 'vibe' babe," Aleida added, and elbowed Blanca who was transfixed checking herself out in the mirror.

Silence.

“Well?” Maritza prodded impatient.

“Girls,” Blanca turned to them with a big smile. “This is the best birthday present you could make me, even if it’s too soon.”

“Yess!”

“I knew it!”

“Well, we wanted you to have fun tonight and to remember it’s your fortieth birthday, you’re not eighty yet!”

“I’m not fort…”

“Good!” exclaimed Aleida, putting her arm around Blanca’s shoulder and directing her to the bed. “You gotta dress now, we have ten minutes.”

“Well we did all the work for you already, don’t worry.”

On the bed lay her entire wardrobe, neatly arranged in three different piles: a huge one to the left, a modest-sized one in the middle, and a tiny one on the right.

“So,” her instructors began. “Obviously, this is the throw-away pile,” Maritza gestured to the taller one, which comprised almost all of her possessions. She swallowed nervously.

“But, I mean, we’re speaking figuratively here,” Flaca smiled reassuringly, and Blanca could breathe again. “You could also donate to a charity or something.”

“Yeah, totally. These are to be worn at home, or at a blind people’s convention,” Maritza indicated the heap that contained mostly pajamas, socks, and a couple of sweaters.

Blanca looked at Aleida, who shrugged.

“OK! And this is the not-entirely-horrid to OK section,” the smaller woman concluded triumphantly. There were jeans, a jacket, a T-shirt or two, and not much else.

“Yep!” Flaca confirmed.

Blanca was at a loss.

“So. For tonight we selected this ensemble. Then one day you gotta come shopping with us.” Aleida openly laughed at Blanca’s face.

Ten minutes later she was all ready, with ripped jeans on, a burgundy top she’d bought a size or two too small and never got to change and didn’t even get close to covering her belly-button, a studded black leather jacket and black combat boots.

“Yes,” Blanca stated, with a last glance at her reflection.

Maritza clutched Flaca’s hand. “I know, right.”

Right. She was starting to see herself again, she was starting to _feel_ like herself again. Cardigans be damned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aleida broke the spell. “We goin’ now,” she announced and put the phone back in her purse.

“OK, we can finish tidying up and then we'll come,” Flaritza assured.

“You sure you got the alarm-setting right?” Blanca worried.

“Of course!” Maritza protested. “You got it Flac, right?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

“Mh ‘kay.”

“Move Flores,” Aleida shouted from the door. “Gloria’s here.”

“Yes! Darn. See you later then, don’t forget the alarm.”

“Noooo! Bye bye.”

“Have fun!”

*****

Gloria had got there with their Uber, Miss Rosa.

The opening of the new club sounded promising, there would be free drinks (“First drink free, second drink’s double the price,” Aleida had commented. She _knew_ about marketing strategies, please), music and dance, and more of their friends.

Hopefully some new interesting faces too, and new interesting bodies attached to them as well, Diaz had said.

“I’m not here for _that_ ,” Blanca grumbled.

“ _I_ am,” the other woman replied, and continued ogling at the burly bald blanquito at the counter.

Gloria shook her head.

They were sipping their first round of tequila cocktails, sitting on the couches they had secured and checking out their surroundings.

There were quite a few people already, and soft merengue in the background; some musicians were getting settled on a small stage. Millie’s daughter Margaret had already called twice, she’d rushed to the bathroom to answer and said there were some problems with the landline but everything was fine at home. And the second time she had to explain how, no, she couldn’t call an electrician at that time on a Saturday, but in the morning a cousin of a friend who was a handyman would come and sort it out, fingers crossed.

It was almost nine. For a second she caught sight of a big man with long, curly dark hair, a black metal tank top and lots of tattoos on his muscular biceps; with that outfit and his general appearance, he really stood up among the crowd. He grabbed a beer from the counter next to Aleida’s dreamboy, and disappeared through a door nearby.

“Mh?” Gloria was waiting for her answer. Uh-oh.

“Er… what?”

“I said, you wanna go dance?” Oh. The band had started to play, how had she missed it?

“I gotta finish my drink first.”

“Right, we going. Finish your drink… you lookin’ thirsty,” Aleida snickered.

She rolled her eyes and resumed her people-watching for a bit, before joining her friends.

Later, Daya and Margarita arrived.

The band had moved on to salsa, while big Diaz had moved on to flirting with the bald man in the middle of the dance floor.

“Please, stand there Blanca. I can’t watch Aleida doing that,” her daughter said.

Blanca moved to the left, and after quickly diverting her eyes from the _that_ Daya had mentioned, she crossed a pair of black ones.

They were the man’s, the one she’d noticed before. They belonged to him, and looked so deep and warm and entrancing, and… they crinkled as his mouth curved in a small smile.

Her own automatically responded in kind.

It continued for a few moments, and her stomach felt weird; she gulped.

“You OK there mami?” Gloria asked.

“Mh? Oh, yeah… I think I gotta eat something, I drank too much,” and she moved to get to the counter and take some fries.

“How much’d she have?” Margarita asked curious.

“Like, a cocktail and a beer.”

“Really?”

“Y’know she lives like an abuela in that house,” Gloria reminded her.

“That’s true,” she conceded.

Blanca was munching and breathing, shaking her head.

_Estúpida, que soy una estúpida_ , she took another fry. _Qué me pasa, teenage hormones like Aleida o qué_ , she thought. It was so long since she’d last felt…

“Hey,” a low voice by her side.

She turned slightly and her thoughts stopped and froze in her brain. Him.

“Hola,” he smiled again.

“Hola,” she couldn’t really control her facial muscles, as they morphed into a big smile of their own.

“Can I offer you something?” he asked.

“Oh,” she paused. “Water.”

He chuckled. “Water?”

She chuckled back. “Water! Yes.” The butterflies in turmoil inside her belly would agree. “Water’s good.”

“It is,” he nodded.

“Very healthy.”

“Right.”

They grinned at each other some more, before the bartender interrupted and they actually ordered. Two waters. With a slice of lemon.

“That’s fancy,” Blanca laughed.

“Yeah,” the man agreed good-humouredly. His face was so kind, and his manners, and in stark contrast with the way he looked which - was doing - _things_ \- to her. Darn.

Blanca forced her eyes up from his chest, back to his face.

“So, I’m Dario,” he started again, “but I prefer Diablo.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Diablo mh? I like it;” she smiled. “Blanca.”

*****

Well past ten.

“Who’s that?” Maritza enquired.

She and Flaca had just got in ‘fashionably late’, they explained, and immediately caught sight of two of their friends engaged with male company. Aleida, not much of a surprise. But Flores… that was an unexpected one, a great one.

“No idea,” Daya sipped on her drink.

“Mh-mh,” Margarita echoed.

“OK... but he doesn’t seem a bad one,” Flaca observed. She wasn’t one to judge based on fashion choices; and this man’s, anyway, she quite approved of.

“Mh,” Gloria continued looking cautiously.

The two were dancing now, and seemed very happy and cozy.

“All our work paid off!” Maritza beamed at her tall friend, who high-fived her.

Blanca’s salsa moves were not half bad, they observed her pelvis going left and right, front towards her partner and back...

“Hey! Did she put on the panties we selected?”

Gloria sighed.

*****

They were back at the counter for another drink.

Diablo would start playing soon. He was a drummer by night, and a gardener/handyman during the day; they’d already talked a lot about their lives, their passions and ideas, finding they had a lot in common - including, almost, some acquaintances. Diablo’d been actually called there that Saturday by a guitarist friend from a rival band to substitute for their drummer - María’s novio Yadriel, who was sick. By then Blanca had almost forgotten it had been Marìa to tell Gloria of the night, and had hardly noticed her missing - she must be home taking care of him.

They’d switch to a very different genre, he’d told her, but she assured that was fine: no one could beat her appreciation for rock and punk.

“I wish I’d seen it!” Diablo laughed when she told him of her three-eyebrows phase. It had come out of her mouth naturally, unbidden, and he’d been fascinated by the idea.

Dios, was this man real?

If he’d been rich, she’d have seriously thought she must have fallen asleep while reading that book and was now dreaming she was like a modern Cenicienta.

While she accepted the glass from him, her slender fingers touched his large ones. They just smiled more.

Now they were having a Virgin Caesar; no questions asked from either side, both actually felt they wanted to be at their most sober to fully enjoy the company and not risk missing out on anything.

His thumb was drawing patterns on the back of her hand, and the simple circular motions and his proximity were instilling a sense of calm in Blanca, and of excitement at the same time. The butterflies had not calmed, and she doubted they ever would again, at least in his presence. But it was thrilling as it was unsettling.

Warm gazes met and got lost for several moments.

“ _Cough cough_ … Diablo,” the bartender cleared his throat to get his attention, and then gestured to someone else a little way away.

“Oh… thanks.”

Diablo looked at his watch, then at Blanca. “I gotta go in a bit, we start soon.”

She nodded. “OOK.”

“You stayin’?” he asked hopeful.

“Of course! I’m gonna find my friends again and, mh…” she started turning around. Oh. Flaritza was actually a couple of stools away from them, and apparently bickering, for a change. But - ah, yes. She could make out Gloria on a table, further, near the stairs. “There.”

“There’s some songs you’ll like, espero.” They had also talked about music, and found some common ground there too.

“Claro que sí,” she assented.

Soon afterwards, he really had to go, and she joined Gloria & Co. again.

*****

They had tormented her for a good while, but then finally let it go - mostly.

Aleida had all but disappeared; everyone had the same thoughts on where she’d probably ended up, and with whom, but it wasn’t necessary to share them _thanks_ , Daya said.

Diablo’s band, well, Yadriel’s band, whatever, was about to start playing. Blanca and the drummer were exchanging heated glances while he arranged his stuff, and she was only occasionally getting mocked by the others.

Flaca was at the counter taking refills for everyone with Daya, and Maritza was sulking, with Margarita trying to cheer her up.

When she had seen Flaritza near herself and Diablo, for an instant she’d suspected they were there to snoop on her - before noticing their aggressive stances. Margarita had confirmed they’d probably gotten there for that reason, but then a couple of guys had offered them drinks, Maritza had accepted while Flaca wanted to decline, and they’d began arguing over the ordeal.

“She said she can pay for her drinks, and mine, but duh! so can I, but where’s the fun then? I don’t get it,” Maritza was still saying.

“Aah, why me…” Gloria sighed. “Mami, she was jealous.”

“Wha… Flaca?” Maritza shook her head. “No Gloria, I wish but… Ooh, fuck it!” she caught herself, got up abruptly and left for the bathroom.

“Always drama,” Margarita stole the last peanut from the bowl.

“They’ll get their heads out of their asses one day,” Gloria said. “Yo, check this out…” she pointed to Blanca.

The Dominican was engaged in a staring contest with Diablo, smirking and caressing the rim of her glass slowly, then putting the straw between her lips, even though there was nothing to drink anymore.

“OMG Flores, get a room!”

She startled and her eyes widened. “What?”

“Ah, let her be,” Gloria said.

*****

It was close to midnight.

Blanca has found a place closer to the stage, they'd danced a bit, drunk some, chatted. And watched. Her facial muscles were starting to ache after all the time she'd spent just smiling like an _idiota_.

Daya got back from the floor.

"Yo, they're worse than Aleida sometimes," she lamented, dropping on the chair. She'd left Flaritza behind, who, by the look of it, were still discussing.

"Yeah, yeah," Gloria said distracted. The two young girls' rollercoaster was nothing new, but what had her attention now was Flores' situation.

Margarita was also following the events with rapt focus, sucking on ice cubes and studying intensely her friend who was staring at that man, smiling, blushing, staring, smiling, blushing, staring, repeat. She was fascinated, having never seen the other woman behave like that, like… a schoolgirl, a teen with a crush.

Blanca seemed completely taken by him.

They had concluded he wasn’t a bad person, maybe; appearances were deceiving, Flores’ self had taught them that. Just on that front only, they could be a match made in heaven - or, well, wherever.

And even as they discussed things basically in front of her, not subtly at all (they could only have been more obvious if Aleida had been there), Blanca had seemed not to notice.

“Wow! Did you hear that drum fill?” she suddenly exclaimed. “I bet he improvised.”

“Er…”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It was great.”

“Right? Es un maldito genio,” and she went back to watching the performance, with a gleam in her eyes.

They looked at each other - yes, she was a lost cause.

Diablo continued playing seamlessly and without missing a beat, even though his attention was more often than not on the woman he had spent such a fantastic time with. She was… wow! Strong and fierce, but also sweet, and fun, and clever… incredible. Her dark orbs were bright with a vivid sparkle when she laughed at his bad jokes; and when he’d taken her hand, they became the waters of a mysterious lake he felt drawn to, dangerous and alluring. Right now they were two stars giving off light from a black sky and, like a sailor, he stayed fixed on them to find his way.

He opened his mouth to join the others, singing the last lines of the song together.

Blanca’s lips curved upwards in surprise, happy.

Yeah, she was a mixture unlike any other woman he’d met, unique.

He couldn’t wait to get back to talking with her.

*****

It was midnight.

The party was in full swing, bar was as full as ever, people were moving to the music, drinking, chatting, having fun; after a short break (fifteen minutes Blanca and Diablo had enjoyed fully, laughing and goofing off by the stage) the band had returned to playing.

Daya and Margarita were dancing with some guys on the floor; Flaritza were still passive-aggressive, Blanca’s orbs stayed dreamily glued to the drummer, Aleida’d got back without a word of explanation and was now trying to convince Gloria to sell her Nutri-Herbal shit at the cafeteria.

_Bzzz… bzzz…_

Blanca startled and got the phone from her pocket. Really?? Would they call her again, at this hour?

But she noticed another icon blinking ominously on her screen… what? WHAT?

“Qué carajo -” and the call was from DeMarco, Millie’s meddling neighbor. Alarmed, she darted up and to the bathroom to get it.

A few minutes and she was back, in a frenzy.

“Flores, qué…”

“Gloria,” she started, then immediately turned to the right. “You… you! Barbies sin cerebro -”

“Hey!” Flaca protested. “Qué te pasa?”

“Te voy a matar, a ti y -”

“Flores, para, para!” the older woman got up too, to separate the two. “Fuck!”

Blanca turned to her. “La casa, Gloria… there’s burglars in the house!”

“Whaat?”

“Qué?”

“The neighbor called, la alarma ha sonado hace un momento but I got the message on the phone before… it didn’t work, and it’s all your fault,” she pointed at Flaca.

“But… wait, you said the alarm went off!”

“Pero tarde!” Blanca exploded. “I’m gonna lose my job, the green card, everything…”

“Blanca wait, I’m sure it’s…”

“Cállate Flaca.”

“Pero…”

“Me voy. Tengo que ir ya,” Blanca picked up her purse and made to move.

“I’m coming with you,” Gloria said.

“Yeah, me too,” added Flaca.

“Ah!” Blanca turned like a wild animal.

“You better stay here Gonzales,” Gloria whispered, squeezing her arm.

“Mm-kay.”

They were already out the door when Aleida and Maritza sat down at the table again with the drinks they’d gone to take.

“Hey Flacaca, where’s Gloria and our winning project of the night?” Diaz asked.

Flaca peeked at Maritza, who was feigning indifference; “Oh, go to hell,” and she got up near tears to leave too.

* * *

Sunday morning.

A time for sleeping long, lounging in bed, getting up only when the growling of your stomach gets too much to bear, having a lazy, indulgent breakfast with not a care in the world, looking forward to a day full of nothing.

Just, generally, taking it easy.

Exactly all the sort of things Blanca had not done in… argh, ages!

That could have been a perfect Sunday to experience them again. The weather was just as mild as it had been for the last week, the air just as warm, the colors just as lively.

Yes, it could have been perfect… but it wouldn’t be, not for Blanca.

“Thank you,” she told the man on the doorstep and they greeted, he bent to take his tool case, and returned to his van.

At least it hadn’t ended in tragedy.

When she and Gloria got to the house a couple of cops were standing on the pavement outside, two more (she’d found out later) were inspecting the perimeter of the building and garden, the alarm was disabled, and DeMarco scurried to them in her nightgown.

It had been a looong while… but it was finally clear that no one had broken and entered, and when a couple of stray cats were found in a bush in loud canoodling it seemed like the case was closed.

All the same, something must have been seriously wrong with the darn new domotics system, as the alarm shouldn’t have gone off for an excess of feline effusions.

So Gloria had stayed the night for safety reasons against her insistence it was OK, and in the morning Blanca had called the company that had designed and installed the infernal thing, and they’d come for an inspection.

They’d promised to fix and upgrade the system for free, at least Millie would be happy for the last part.

Her daughter had rung panicking at 7: she was connected to their system and had got the message just like her, luckily she’d been asleep at the time and just saw it when she woke up.

“You got to call them again?” Gloria asked.

The family’d wanted constant updates on what the company said and did and thought, all the while talking over her and giving useless advice, nearly driving her crazy. They sure would, as soon as they got back with Millie that afternoon.

“Yeah,” Blanca grumbled.

“Here,” Gloria handed her the phone. “They forgot the landline thing right?”

“For now. I’ll tell them my friend came and fixed it, like, at dawn.”

“They gonna believe it?”

“Sure, they think no one’s got anything better to do with their Sundays.”

Gloria snorted, and poured them some more coffee.

*****

Diablo was ready to bang his head against a brick wall. It would have been more useful. _Estúpido, pendejo..._

Why hadn’t he asked Blanca the surname of her vieja? Or at least the street she lived on… her phone number! Darn.

But then, she'd disappeared like that, without a word...

What could he do now? Easy… nothing. There was just nothing to do.

*****

By Wednesday everything had been fixed.

The event was still all Millie could talk about, that and the despicable way Margaret managed her household and how miserable her own weekend had been. She regretted being away and missing the fun, she said, but at the same time was convinced Blanca must have done something wrong to cause the problem, no matter how much the repairmen repeated it was some software malfunctioning.

The Dominican woman was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she could feel it.

She’d almost had to blackmail DeMarco into not telling Millie that she'd been out on Saturday night; luckily she had her connections too, and knew some things of her past Mrs Anita wouldn’t want her faint-hearted neighbors to hear.

Yes, one day Blanca’d just… rebel; she didn’t what she would do, but she would do it.

Meanwhile, she was stuck in her usual life-sucking routine.

What irked her the most was how her night had been ruined… and it had been such a great night!

Two dark, warm eyes came to her mind. Yes, it was the best she’d had in a very long time, maybe… maybe, even, the best ever.

*****

“Pero… are you sure?” she asked skeptical.

“Sí, acabo de decirtelo!” Blanca insisted.

“Alright, alright - that’s not ready!” Gloria yelled, and Blanca moved the phone away from her ears.

“Was that Flaca?”

“Yeah.” The clanging sounds went on in Gloria’s kitchen.

“Tell here I’m sorry.”

“She knows, you told her five times.”

“Mh,” Blanca paused. “So, are we on?”

“If Lourdes can stay with Benny and Julio again, OK,” Gloria said. “I’ll tell you.”

“Good.”

*****

An idea had finally come.

And quite a good one, he thought.

He couldn’t directly ask his guitarist friend, or this Yadriel he didn’t even know; he wasn’t that desperate - not yet. But this was a solid plan.

The neighborhood was nice, most houses had gardens, he was capable and hard-working and had some references…

Diablo started to make his plan a reality that Thursday, after finishing work with his mate Fahri.

Hope was in the air.

He could see Blanca’s face very clearly in his mind, and soon, surely, he’ll have it in front of him again.

*****

Saturday night.

"Hey cabrona! Come join the party!" yelled Aleida, waving her hand and a bottle out of the car window.

"If I see a drop I'm gonna charge you for new seats," growled Miss Rosa.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Why'd you tell her?!" Blanca hissed to Gloria, sitting next to her on the backseat. Margarita was in the front, and Aleida took a swig.

"To Flores! Happy birthday!"

"Again? It's next week!"

"It's never too soon to celebrate a friend," Diaz answered, and passed the bottle on.

"I didn't tell her, she heard it from Daya who heard it from Flaca who can't keep her mouth shut," Gloria explained.

"Mh."

"Take," she gave her the beverage. "Liquid courage."

Blanca gulped a healthy dose down and started coughing. "Coño, qué es??"

"Rum," answered Margarita, reaching out to take it.

"What? I thought it was beer," Blanca said.

"I know right, I could be a fucking genius James Bond!" Aleida cheered.

Miss Rosa was mumbling under her breath, and whatever she was saying, Gloria certainly agreed with.

At the bar they'd had a drink at the counter, then moved to a table.

Someone they'd never heard would play later. That was why Blanca had decided to go, really; after days she'd concluded her best bets were, either to return to Saturday's place, or find Diablo's band.

This was, like, a double try.

Some more blackmailing on DeMarco and the woman had paid a visit to Millie, warning her some useless Democrat policemen were investigating work conditions in the area, asking about undocumented care workers, hours and contracts and all. Just then Blanca'd asked to have the night free, and something in her eyes must have told her vieja to grant it.

She had taken her time for make-up and to prepare tonight, wearing her skimpy blue dress and last week's jacket for good luck.

After a round of shots she'd felt more relaxed and switched to soda; she didn't want to lose control, just to be good, even though Aleida had laughed for ten minutes.

"I thought Mendoza was the abuela here," she had said, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Hey, when's the fiesta?"

Live music was at ten. A couple of people were on the stage already, arranging some wires and things; unknown faces.

Customers were flocking in, the place had started on the right foot evidently.

"Hey, where's the girls?" asked Margarita.

"Humph, Daya's with that loser Bennett."

"He's a nice kid," Blanca replied.

"He almost poorer than us and got one leg less, what's he good for?"

"Well he has an honest job at least," Margarita observed.

Aleida shrugged it off.

"And Flaritza? They're not angry for the other day right," Blanca worried.

"Naa, you're good."

"So," Gloria explained, "I left Flaca the kitchen tonight. She should take Ramos there, like, as a surprise, and get her head out of her ass and say what she has to say. Maybe." Oh!

"Oooh!" Margarita swooned. "They'll be so cute together!"

"Wait," said Aleida. "I don't trust Flacaca to woman up."

Blanca smiled. "I hope it happens. It's been years."

"Mh."

Just then an electric bass was heard, and then a male voice started whispering in tune, getting progressively louder and louder while more instruments joined in, guitars, keyboard, finally the drums, to fully explode in a powerful rock song.

Everyone’s attention was now on the stage, which was dark though; green and purple flashes lit up the hands of the players in quick unexpected bursts, a mouth singing, suspended cymbals vibrating, and one could hardly notice it had happened before it ended.

“Yo, cool!” Aleida appraised.

“Yeah,” Blanca whispered, hypnotized.

“Let’s go!” Margarita proposed, and they went to dance.

They moved following the music, laughing and warming up fast; Blanca was loving it, and her sparkling eyes were glued to the place where the drummer was.

The band had drifted from one song to the other with no interruptions, and after the fourth one and its loud ending the stage suddenly broke out in blinding lights and the lead and the others shouted down at their audience.

“Thank you!”

“Yayy!” people started to cry, Aleida catcalled and the other women hollered, and Blanca…

Her sight recovered from the momentary optic shock, and she was smiling and cheering till… she saw it. Or, rather, she didn’t.

The drummer, a big bear of a man with beard and long hair - long, wavy blond hair.

“Oh.”

Gloria turned to her, Diaz opened her mouth but was shut up by the glare the other woman sent her way. They all knew why their friend had wanted to go out and there tonight, but no one had acknowledged it explicitly - not even Aleida.

“Fuck,” whispered Margarita.

“I’m gonna take a beer,” Blanca muttered and left them.

“Should I…” Margarita started.

“Naa, give her a minute,” Gloria said, following her with her eyes.

* * *

What a shitty day. What a shitty life.

Another week had started. In a few days it would be her birthday; well over thirty, and there was nothing much to look out for. That morning her best friend Karla had called: her visit would have been one of the best gifts she could wish for, but some more stupid bureaucracy had put off her departure. Three more weeks before she could definitely, legally leave El Salvador and they’d meet again. Three more years before Blanca herself could have her green card.

Meanwhile she would get older and grey and die of boredom, alone with her stubborn vieja and Patty from church and all the other mummies of that fucking place that wasn’t even New York.

Blanca's gaze was out on the garden, the other houses and the sunset.

It wasn’t Diablo the other night. She had felt so sure… stupid, stupid.

The band was good, she’d have enjoyed it under different circumstances; but then, she’d enjoyed the alcohol more.

She shouldn’t give up, it was just her first try: what else could she do, though? apart from going to all the bars in the area, all the concerts, like a lovesick fangirl.

And if she found him, would it be worth it? Would Diablo still be thinking about her, would he remember her even?

And if so, maybe he’d be not pleased but offended ‘cause she had left in such a hurry that night, without saying anything to him, without even a gesture...

“Biancaa!”

Blanca sighed, and withdrew from the window.

*****

Many days had gone by with no results.

At first he didn’t understand why many doors weren’t even opened when he rang, then he’d caught the stare of one of the churchgoers who did open, and tried to tone down his look a bit. With polo shirts it was easier to cover up the dragon tattoo on his neck, even if he felt like a penguin; but the 666 on his hand was simply impossible to conceive, unless he’d worn gloves in April, just to look like a maniac.

He hadn’t realized the town was so big.

And it was beautiful, quiet, but beautiful.

The green was lush, the sky cloudless blue, birds were chirping away on the trees and it just smelled like full-on spring.

It was sunny, and hot on his skin.

Skin… when he’d caressed Blanca’s hand it had felt wonderful; her fingers were slender but strong, he could feel it, and her palm was smooth but harder in places. She was a worker, she had years of a life behind her, and he liked it.

And when they’d danced up close it had been so warm, and alive.

She’d smiled and lines had appeared around the edges of her mouth, and as she laughed, her eyes crinkled more and from her lips escaped the richest sounds.

Diablo headed towards the next house to offer his services as a gardener. Nobody would want one, it was obvious all these people had loads of minions for their every need, but his real quest was gathering information (not successfully so far) and in the end, finding a certain person.

Such great houses on this road, huge ones like palaces de la nobleza, with big gardens and walkways that lead to stately entrances with white columns.

He had a couple of hours before dusk. Well! Better start to make them count.

*****

Her birthday had been pretty uneventful.

Just a normal Thursday cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner, ironing, vacuuming the bedrooms and living room, drinking tea with a cake she’d made, and Millie. Gloria would pass by tonight for a quick greeting, and some of the others, Aleida, Maria, Flaritza if they'd managed to stop the lovey-doveying for a sec (Gloria had told her everything and she was happy for them – envious right now, but happy all the same). Or maybe Blanca could even go out herself , as DeMarco had offered to keep company to her vieja; that whole affair at least had born some fruits.

It wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was a potential improvement on her social life of the last few years.

But she couldn’t keep some things out her mind now, some things like… well.

She left Millie with a quiz show in front of the TV, and went to take a shower.

*****

It was almost dark, he was tired and a bit discouraged.

Diablo took off that stupid shirt and threw it in the back. He checked the time. He could still make it to buy some take-away and then get home for when the basketball reruns started.

He spared another look at the two-story brick house, and slammed the car door shut.

*****

_Shhshhshh… shhshhshh..._

The gentle splashing of the water was washing away some of the tension from her body.

She had always loved getting clean. Well, she had always loved getting dirty, too, but by now she’d almost forgotten how one did that.

Blanca was rinsing the last of the shampoo from her hair, when…

_Ding-dong._

Mierda. Was Gloria early? Or DeMarco?

She turned the water off.

“Biancaa!”

Fuck her vieja; she was only deaf when she wanted to. “I’m goin’!” Blanca shouted.

_Ding-dong._

“Bianca!”

“Yes, I was in the shower!”

She dried herself off quickly and put something on, then rushed down the stairs.

Catching her breath, she opened the door wide.

A lone figure was half-way on the path back to the street, she could see its back; their back; ... _his_ back.

He turned abruptly.

Diablo was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and grey jeans; he wouldn't be the picture of a prince charming to many, maybe, but she couldn't imagine a better one.

Blanca had a blue-and-white striped blouse on, hair in a towel on her head, and she looked as if she’d just walked out of a dream.

His lips were moving, but her ears and brain couldn’t connect to understand what he was saying, or what was happening at all.

“Wow,” he smiled, and a sigh and a word came out of his mouth of their own accord. “Preciosa…”

She smiled back.

He moved towards the door, and she walked down the few small steps.

Now this was a happy birthday, and a present she would love to unwrap for many years to come.


End file.
